Running Wild
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Altair rides into a small town that's being threatened by Cesare Borgia, a powerful rancher. He meets the Auditores, an Italian immigrant family, and vows that live or die, he will protect them.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, this is super-rrrrrr cracky, but I love it. And I'd love to hear what you think on such a ridiculous piece. Yes. This is a western AU based loosely off _Shane_, which I love, featuring:**

**Cowboy!Altair**

**Indian farmer!Malik and housekeeper!Kadar**

**Little Boy!Des**

**Farmer!Ezio**

**Rancher!Cesare**

**Enjoy. :3**

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><p>He came riding in on a simple brown horse. He had brown hair and gold eyes that pierced into the soul of any who dared look. His pants were brown, and his shirt a pristine, collared white. At his hip, swaying gently with the slow lope of the horse, was a gun in its holster. There was a scar on his lips from fights long passed, and his hands were calloused and tough, yet held the reins as gentle as any might a babe. His hat was brown like his pants and the horse. People didn't stop to look at him as he rode in, sitting upright, yet relaxed.<p>

He stopped the horse with a quiet murmur in front of the general store's water bin. Briefly rubbing down the horse's neck, he scooped some water into his hands and washed his face. The horse seemed all too happy to stop and take a sip. The stranger straightened and walked into the general store.

"Pleasure, mate. What brings you here?"

He looked to see a foreigner—his accent was British. "I could ask you the same."

The storekeeper laughed and stepped around the counter. The stranger reached out and shook the man's hand, pleased to find he had a firm grip.

"Furthest thing from Britain I could find. Name's Shaun Hastings. How can I help you?"

The stranger looked to the side at the icebox, and Shaun nodded. "Help yourself, sir. Lord Almighty's blessed us with a fine day out."

He walked over and fished around to find a bottle of pop—something cheap and cold. He paid for it without a word and took the offered chair in front of the store. But before he could walk out, Shaun called out, "Excuse me, mate, but I never caught your name."

He responded in a quiet voice, hardly turning his head enough so Shaun could catch it, "Altair."

The sun was setting before a little boy came galloping in ahead of his father. He stopped right in front of Altair, his jaw dropping and his eyes widening.

"Look, pa! A real cowboy!" he whispered to his father, a large smile growing across his face. Suddenly shy, the boy clung to his father's pantleg and grinned like a fool.

"Howdy, stranger. Name's Ezio Auditore."

Altair was pleased to see he, too, had a firm handshake. "Italian."

"Yup. My nana and granddad moved in here from Italy. Takin' over the farm now. What's your name, cowboy?"

His eyes sifted over to the little boy, who giggled and hid behind the leg. "Altair."

Ezio nodded. "Strong name. What's your business?"

"Passing through."

Ezio looked behind him at the boy. "C'n 'e stay with us tonight if he don't got a place to sleep?"

Ezio turned and raised an eyebrow at Altair, "You're welcome. It's gonna save ya money, and you'll get a free meal."

Altair leaned back in the rocking chair, watching as the little boy peeked around his father's leg. He looked hopeful.

"This here's Desmond. My son. Always playing cowboys and Indians with our farmhands, Malik an' Kadar. Malik lost an arm saving our farm, least we could do was give his brother an' 'im a place to stay and work."

"Saved your farm?"

Ezio nodded. "Our farm caught fire years ago, and they 'ad jist been wanderin'. 'Elped us nurse it back to health. Damn redskins know the earth."

Altair nodded once—surely there was more to the fire than just that. He looked at the kid again. He wouldn't lie: the kid was adorable.

"Are ya stayin', mister?"

Altair looked back at the father.

"It's all right. We got the room."

Altair sighed. "I suppose."

Desmond whupped in joy, punching the air and dancing as his father watched, smiling. "We gonna 'ave a real cowboy stay wif us! He can play cowboys an' injuns wif me and Malik and Kada'!"

Ezio laughed. "Settle down, 'ere. Why don't you stay out here, an' I'll take care a things in there? If ya don't mind, Altair."

Altair shook his head slowly. "It's the least I can do."

Ezio grinned. "Thanks, partner. Behave, Desmond."

"I promise, pa!"

When his father went in, Desmond looked at Altair as if he were a god. Altair leaned forward when the kid crept closer.

"Can ya shoot the gun real well?"

A smirk tugged at Altair's lips. "Perhaps."

"'Ave ya ever killed an injun?"

He leaned back, the smirk turning into a frown. "I don't like killing unless I have to."

Desmond looked floored. "B-but you're a cowboy, mister!"

This kid was going to be the death of him. He patted his knee, and Desmond scrambled into his lap eagerly—it had been a while since he had seen such innocent idolization.

"Killing isn't always the answer."

"Pa says it is wif Mister Borg'a. Says he's gonna be the deaf of that man even if'in kills 'im."

"What's wrong with Borg'a?"

"Mister Cesare Borg'a's long time enemy a papa's. Mister Borg'a's bin sweepin' up land 'round 'ere for 'is cattle drives. Papa runs a farm, and Mister Borg'a's bin tryin' ta get 'im ta leave. But we got Malik an' Kada' from Mister Borg'a's meanness, so I'm okay wif 'im, 'cause Malik and Kada' are my friends now. Pa says it's bad ta let others know 'bout me bein' friends wif 'em, but I don't care. Those two are great."

The smirk was tugging at Altair lips again from Desmond's happy personality. Yes, it had been a long time since he had been around someone like him.

"An' now you gonna stay wif us, and everyfing's gonna be good, 'cause you can 'elp papa kill Mister Borg'a since 'e's such a bad man. An' then ya can stay wif us, forever, and tell me all ya stories 'bout bein' a cowboy."

He said the last word with such reverence that Altair chuckled quietly. "Stay forever?"

"Yeah, ya'll stay forever and play wif me and Malik and Kada' and 'elp pa work the farm till I grow up and take over."

Altair shook his head. Desmond was grinning at him.

"Sound like a deal? Pa says learnin' ta make deals is impo'tant."

"Impotent?"

"Yeah, real impo'tant. Says is a good skill ta 'ave so ya can negotiate wif others."

Altair decided that he needed to start being around civilization more. This kid was almost too accented to understand. "How old are you, Desmond?"

"Me? I'm five." He was beaming proudly. "Pa's been lettin' me 'elp Malik and Kada' 'round the fields now."

"Really?"

"Yeah! I get ta carry the logs and beat the groun' wif a hoe. Mama doesn't like hoes, says pa used ta sleep wif a bunch'a 'em. I don't know why 'e'd sleep wif a tool like that. Ain't that comfy."

Altair smirked again. To be so innocent once again was just a dream. Ezio came strolling out with a large crate.

"Ready, son? Altair?"

Desmond clung to Altair's neck. "Can 'e carry me?"

Altair managed to pull Desmond off and stick him on his horse. "How about you ride—"

"A cowboy ho'se!" Desmond looked about ready to explode with child-like glee. "I get ta ride a cowboy ho'se!"

Altair took the crate, pointedly ignoring Ezio's protests. They walked in relative silence all the way out of the town and down a small side road to the vast farm the Auditores owned. Altair was impressed. Desmond shrieked when two Indians came walking up. The older of the two reached for the crate.

"Give me the crate."

"Malik! I'm on a cowboy ho'se!"

Malik glanced at the kid before scowling. "Get off the horse before you get hurt. And give me the crate."

"Just tell me where to put it."

"Give me the crate, stranger, and I won't hurt you."

Kadar walked over to squirming Desmond and picked him up off the saddle. "Desmond, this is nothing. You haven't ridden a horse for real yet."

"For real?"

Kadar situated him on his hip, and Altair though he looked more like a woman. The man was young and bright. "Not until you've ridden one bareback."

Desmond was holding onto Kadar's neck, looking awed. "You have?"

"I never told you the story of the first time I did?"

He shook his head so rapidly Altair thought it might snap off. He blinked when he felt the crate removed from his arms, carried off by the one-armed Indian.

"Stupid maggot."

Altair growled, and Ezio placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about him. He's always harsh to strangers. Kadar, this is Altair. He'll be stayin' with us for a while."

Kadar nodded once and bowed. "Pleasure, sir."

Altair nodded and tipped his hat.

"'E's a real cowboy, Kada'! 'E promised ta play cowboys and injuns wif us!"

Kadar laughed at Altair's frown. "Desmond, what have I and your mother told you about putting words into others' mouths?"

Desmond blinked. "Um…"

Kadar laughed softly, and Altair realized he needed to be careful around these two. But if Malik was as much of an asshole as he had just been, he wouldn't have to worry about ever wanting to stay in where ever the Hell this town was.

"Kadar, come an' help me in the barns with the pigs. Tell Malik to get Altair some water for a bath."

"If you don't mind me saying, sir, I don't think Malik's taken to our newest friend here very well. How about if Desmond and I…"

Ezio seemed to think it over for a bit before sighing and saying, "Yup, you're right, as is usual. You and Desmond draw his water. Send Malik out to the barns. If you'll follow me, Altair, I'll get ya a stall to put her up."

Desmond was chirping merrily as Kadar walked away with the boy. Altair gently took his horse's reins, noting the horse seemed to be relieved at the loss of the high-energy kid, and followed Ezio into one of several barns, nodding in thanks when they stopped in front of an empty stall so he could put up his horse.

"You don't say much, do you? You'll be an interesting guy to have 'round here."

Altair looked at him. "Cesare Borg'a."

Ezio scowled, and Altair raised an eyebrow. "Cesare Borgia's—"

"Borgia?"

Ezio blinked, then laughed. "Yup. My son doesn't speak too well yet; 'though we've been trying to teach him. Being a third generation, this land seems to be swallowing him whole."

Altair nodded.

"Anyway, Cesare Borgia's the rancher across the river. He's been trying to get me to leave these lands for the longest time now. That's 'cause I'm the only one in the way of him takin' over these lands and having kids with that cat of a sister."

Altair didn't let his disgust show.

Ezio sighed and rubbed his face wearily. "He's been sending hooligans and rowdies to our lands. I've shot several of them, but nothing seems to stop 'im."

Altair studied the man in front of him. Without his kid around, it was easy to see the weariness in his face. His eyes, slightly darker than his own, were filled with grief and worry. Altair wondered if such voluminous worry was a product of his family.

Ezio sighed and hung his head, breaking their eye contact as Malik walked in.

"Mister Auditore, while you took Desmond out, we had a brief scuffle with Borgia's men. They were heckling the cows, so we took them in and showed the men a thing or two."

Ezio rested his face in his hands. "Like wolves being egged on, if they keep moving closer, we'll have to move."

He watched as Malik came over and placed his hand on Ezio's arm. "Sir, Kadar and I have pledged our lives to you. You saved us from the feds, and we will fight to the death for you."

Ezio smiled wearily at him. "I know, Malik. An' I thank you for it. You two are good ones, willin' to trust a maggot so easily."

Malik patted his arm.

"Would you mind if I wandered the farm?" Altair said. "After I care for Maria?"

Ezio chuckled. "Not at all. I can give you a tour if'in ya want. Malik'll need to show me where the scuffle was, anyway."

Altair nodded and set about cleaning Maria and settling her in. She seemed happy to be brushed again and washed thoroughly. When he was done, Kadar came and got him, still holding Desmond—although both of them looked much wetter now—and showed him to the tub in the house.

"Miss'us Auditore went to visit a friend of theirs. She'll be back to fix a meal later."

Altair nodded and pulled the hat from his head. He looked over briefly at the two before placing it on Desmond's head. Desmond's eyes bugged out, and he smirked.

"Watch it for me."

Desmond nodded so rapidly he had to cling to the sides of it to keep it on and out of his eyes. Kadar laughed and sent Desmond out of the room.

"Thank you, Mister Altair. You've made his life."

Altair nodded. "I'm glad my presence is good for more than just killing."

Kadar smiled, bowed, and walked out. Altair undressed and slipped into the water, relaxing immediately in the hot water. It had been too long since he had last had a bath like this. He waited until the water had turned lukewarm before he scrubbed down, noticing the sun going down. He heard a shout outside.

"Mama! Mama! Look! I'm wearin' a real cowboy 'at! Is a real one, I promise!"

He let himself chuckle. That kid had too much energy. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen a kid that happy in all of his travels. His mood was infectious, too: Altair hadn't laughed in years, and now, an hour into meeting someone, here he was, chuckling in the privacy of the tub. He shook his head—so much for all the work he had put into being stoic and silent. Perhaps he was just overwhelmed by the happiness of the family despite their situation. He dressed quietly, pleased to find a clean set of clothes where his old ones had been. Kadar must have switched them out.

He walked through the wooden house silently, regardless of the boots on his feet. As he pushed open the front door, he found Desmond screeching in his hat, his fingers like "L"s as he shouted, "Bang, bang!" Kadar was letting him chase him and wrestle with him.

"We've been blessed."

He looked to see Ezio sitting on a rocking chair, a beautiful woman by his side in another. He nodded and reached for his hat to bow in her presence, only to realize Desmond still had it. The lady laughed.

"No need to be so polite. The name's Caterina! You'll see me out there workin' the fields with you men tomorrow. I leave most of the housework ta Kadar."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I know: she's an odd one, but Kadar and Desmond clicked quickly, so she taught him how to manage the household. I'm grateful she helps in the fields. She's one Helluva wife."

She nodded once, scoffing. "You're lucky."

"I know I am. Here, Altair, have a seat. Once Kadar manages to free Malik from his captor, we'll show ya around."

Altair nodded, looking back to Kadar and Desmond. Sure enough, Malik was a little ways off, a soft smile on his lips as he shifted in the poorly knotted rope. Desmond was pretending to shoot at Kadar, defending his prize. He smirked when Malik undid the ropes quietly and stood. He scooped up the tike, who screamed in surprised, and gave him a raspberry on his neck, causing the kid to dissolve in a fit of laughter. Kadar tickled his sides as the overly large hat fell off his head, and Desmond was kicking and fidgeting as he laughed, helpless to their tickling tactics.

Finally, Desmond cried out for mercy, and they let him pick up his hat and run over to the porch-dwellers. Desmond hopped on each of the two stairs to the porch, holding onto the sides of the hat. He climbed into Altair's lap, unbidden, and settled into as if he belonged there. Altair's brow knitted together.

"Desmond, ask before you just go clambering into someone's lap," Caterina chastised him, and Desmond bowed his head, peeking out from the under big hat and giving Altair the biggest, saddest kicked-puppy look he could.

"May I sit in yer lap, Mister Alt'ir?"

He was still giving him that look as Kadar spoke. "He's got a terrible way of getting what he wants."

Altair was going to tell him to get off, but there was no point. Altair shrugged. "I don't mind."

Desmond hollered with joy and settled into his lap, placing the cowboy hat back on Altair's head the best he could. "There's your cap, sir! I took reeeeeeeeal good care of it fo'ya, which'in was 'ard 'cause there was injuns attackin' us."

Altair nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I saw. A good fight."

"I bet ya coulda killed 'em faster wif yer gun. Jist pull it ou' and blam!" Altair grabbed Desmond as he gestured wildly to keep him from falling off. "I bet ya've killed lots, right?"

"Only when the occasion needs it, which is seldom."

Desmond looked like he didn't believe him. Kadar ruffled Desmond's hair as he came and stood by them. "Why don't we let these guys give your cowboy a tour of the farm, and we'll help your mom—"

Desmond clung to Altair's neck, and he didn't know what to do.

"No! I wanna go wif 'em on the tour! Cin I come? Please?"

Ezio sighed as he pushed from his chair. "If your ma says it's okay."

Caterina nodded. "Run'im good. He needs a good running."

Desmond whooped and climbed down, bouncing. "Le's go! Come on, comeon, comn!"

Malik shook his head slowly. "How did you two give birth to such a wild child?"

Desmond had run several feet off the porch by now, gesturing wildly for them to come. Altair, Ezio, Malik, and Kadar made their way slowly toward him. He'd run off a few feet, then come running back, and repeat.

"I don't know, but at least we know he's healthy."

Altair watched him, amused.

"Anyway," Ezio began, "these are the barns. Ya've seen those. Cows and horses in these two, and the sheep and pigs in the third."

He listened closely as he was shown the three well-built barns. There were large, open plots of land behind each one, and on the other side of the hand-built log house were crops. There was river at the edge of the grazing areas, and it was here they stopped briefly as Malik gave Ezio a quiet run down of what happened. Altair looked across the river, examining the other side as Desmond played in the shallows, still wet from helping Kadar fetch his bath. He glanced at the boy when he was splashed, only to see Desmond holding a small frog in his hands.

"Now, now, mister hoppy-toad. I'm gonna take real good care of ya. An' you an' I are gonna win lotsa races against stupid Robert."

Altair squatted by the boy, who looked at him and held out his prize, beaming. "We're gonna beat that mean ol' Robert de Stable Stupidhead an' whup 'im real good. 'E was pickin' on Lucy yestaday, an' I promised 'er I'd beat 'im good at the next frog contest."

"A race?"

"Naw, a frog jumpin' contest."

He clicked his tongue and pushed the frog back into his tiny little fingers. Altair felt sorry for the frog, realizing it wouldn't live long if the boy took it back to the house. He reached out and covered his hands. Desmond looked at him curiously. "Let this one go home to his family."

Desmond looked shocked. "'E's got a fam'ly? I'm sorry, mister hoppy-toad! B-but 'ow cin I win if'in I don't got a hoppy-toad ta jump?"

"Kadar can sew, right?"

Desmond nodded.

"Let's make you a frog outfit, and you can jump."

Desmond's eyes bugged out. "For real?"

Altair nodded and gently pried the boy's hands apart. Save a life where he could, and perhaps he could be forgiven for all the killing he had done. They watched the frog hop back into the river with a loud croak and a splash, and Desmond was all ready on Kadar's pant leg, explaining the next big plan to him. Kadar was laughing quietly, a hand over his mouth to keep it hidden, and Altair watched them fondly. Kadar reached down and picked the kid up, who yawned mightily in mid-sentence, and promised that he would do that.

After Malik was done, Ezio turned to Altair, "Tomorrow, I'll show ya the town."

He showed him the rest of the farm: the wood pile, the tools, the animals, and the house itself. Caterina had prepared a small cot for him in the same room as Desmond. Altair ate his dinner on the porch, staring out over the river to the land beyond and watching for any shifting shadows. As he ate, he enjoyed not having to talk to anyone. Snippets of the dinner conversation drifted out to him through the screened door.

"He's an odd one," Kadar said.

"He's a stupid one, coming here," Malik snapped.

There, in the bushes, a shadow was moving on the far side of the river. Best let it get closer.

"'E's dange'ous, ain't 'e, pa?"

There was silence as he slowly drew his pistol as the figure waded into the water.

"Yes, son," came Ezio's tired response.

"W'at?"

Altair let a two shots ring out, watching the humanoid figure fall on the Auditore property. There was a scramble before Malik came rushing out.

"Borgia!"

Altair turned and looked at him slowly, his plate still in one hand as holstered his gun.

"What did you do, you novice?" Malik snarled, grabbing a lantern from inside and rushing out.

Altair turned away, looking toward the body. Malik and Ezio went rushing out.

"W'addya do, Mister Alt'ir?"

He looked down at Desmond and ruffled his hair. The boy smiled at him. If only he was deserving of such an innocent smile.

"Desmond, why don't you come inside and finish your dinner?"

Desmond clung to Altair's pants. "No! I wanna see w'at 'appened!"

Kadar came out with a sigh. "Please?"

Desmond shook his head, pouting. Several minutes later, Ezio and Malik looking impressed.

"I'll be damned," Ezio whispered, giving Altair a close once over.

Malik was impassive, which Altair took as a sign of being impressed.

"I ain't never seen nothing like you."

"W'at 'appened!" Desmond cried, stomping his foot, still clinging to Altair.

Malik looked him straight in the eye. "He killed Cesare's right-hand man from the porch with two shots."

Desmond's jaw dropped. "Really?"

"Really, really, kiddo," Ezio said as he shook his head.

Desmond looked at Altair, who was gazing out over the land. He finished the last bite on his plate and turned, walking in silently. The boy had let go of his pants. He deposited his plate in the wash bin, murmured a quiet "Thank you" to Caterina, tipped his hat, and walked to his cot. He pulled off his shirt and hat, tucking the gun's belt underneath, and settled into the bed. He was half asleep when he heard the voices of Desmond and Kadar.

"'E's real dange'ous, ain't 'e?"

He watched Kadar tuck the boy in through half-lidded eyes. Once he was in his bed clothes and under the covers, Kadar sat on the edge and ran a hand through his hair, kissing his forehead.

"He most certainly is, Desmond. Far more dangerous than you could ever imagine."

"Really?"

"But he's not dangerous to us."

"Huh?"

Kadar sighed and blew out the light. He walked to the door before he said, "Just know if you're in trouble, Altair is the man you need to get to, okay?"

There was a noncommittal noise from the boy.

"Promise, Dessie?"

There was a happy chirp from the bed. "Promise, Kada'."

"Good. Sleep tight."

"Night, Kada'."

The door was shut, and the room was dark except for the small amount of the light the stars poured through the window. He saw Desmond shift and stare at him. Then, the boy got up and walked over, quiet as a mouse, and squatted near him. Altair could see the question on the boy's face, and lifted the blanket. Desmond gasped and fell on his rump, and Altair waited patiently. Finally, the boy crawled in and curled up against his chest.

"Goo' night, Mister Alt'ir. Thank ya."

Altair watched the boy until he fell asleep. He looked out the window as he wrapped an arm around him to keep him close. The stars seemed to be staring back at him, all of them another eye that was witness to the deeds he had done. His arm pressed the boy closer to him, and Desmond made a noise and snuggled closer.

Heaven forbid this boy should be taken from him, too.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, he woke up to the feel of something pressed tightly against his side. He looked down and saw a head of short hair tucked against him, and he moved closer to the body as if to protect it. He lay there, quiet and watching the boy sleep until the door creaked open, and Kadar came walking in.

"Hey, Dessie… Dessie?"

Kadar pulled back the covers before spinning around to see Altair watching him closely. His gaze flickered down to the lump, and he chuckled.

"You've got quite an admirer, Mister Altair."

Altair studied the young man. He must have been just entering his older years, the feminine features in all young men and the slender face of baby fat just lost where still present. Altair looked down when Desmond stirred, and he rubbed his back gently.

"Thank you," Kadar said as he shuffled around and gathered Desmond's clothes. "For everything. I've seen your eyes, and I've seen the pain in them."

His eyes widened in surprise, and Kadar laughed at his expression.

"You seemed surprised. Malik and I are Indian. We know the land well. We can read auras and eyes. You are no exception. That is why Malik has stayed away. His distrust of whitemen causes him to anger easily, but he has seen the gentleness when you are around Desmond. He loves the boy a lot, even though he won't say it, so he tries to stay away from you so that he will not cause you any more grief."

Altair looked down at Desmond. "Nazih…"

Kadar watched, his eyebrows furrowing as Altair pulled the sleeping boy into a gentle hug. Desmond stirred and moved closer into the embrace, and Altair shut his eyes against the memories that threatened to come.

"I could not save you. Forgive me," he uttered, his voice cracking.

When he looked again, Kadar had turned away to give him privacy. When Kadar turned around again, Altair was nowhere to be found, and Desmond was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. Altair was out in the fields, a bucket on each end of a long stick as he carried water up from the river to the fields. Ezio was out working, and he was greeted with a cheerful hello from the man, and a nod from Malik. Altair nodded in response and set about helping them water the crops. By midday, they had also let the animals out to pasture when a sheriff came loping along on a tired old mare. Altair watched the exchange closely.

"Do not worry. We will be safe from your kill. No one likes Borgia, and he cannot stand up in a court."

He looked to his side to see Malik standing there, his hand on his hip as he watched the exchange. Altair nodded and watched until Caterina whistled for them to come in and get a drink. When he entered the house, Desmond was playing with a small train around Kadar. The beautiful young man was stitching a pair of small pants.

"An' when I get real rich, I'ma gonna buy all the t'ains in the USA and take ya on onna 'em. Soun' like a deal, Kada'?"

Desmond was rolling the wooden train around in a circle, crawling under Kadar's chair and back around. Kadar nodded and hummed in agreement. "Of course, Dessie."

"An' I'll take ya ta see the Big Canyon."

"Grand Canyon. It is a special spot for my people."

"The Injuns, right?"

"Yes, the Indians."

"You're cool, Kada'."

A smile graced Kadar's lips, and Altair noticed a smaller one on Malik's. "Thank you, Desmond."

"Choo, choo!" Desmond said, bringing the train out from its circle to go around the living room kitchen.

He sat in the chair that allowed him to see both doors as he took the offered glass of water. He was halfway through it when he felt a tug on his pants, and he looked down to see Desmond standing there, his train in hand, looking hopeful. Altair set the glass down and looked at himself.

"I'm filthy."

"I dun't care."

He patted his knee, and Desmond scrambled into his lap, wearing a large grin. He set his train on the table and rolled it back and forth, making the train noises. Altair finished the glass of water and set it down.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"No problem, Altair."

"Cin I 'elp you guys wif the aminals taday?"

Altair raised an eyebrow.

"No," Kadar said. Altair looked at him, catching himself before he broke at the love and warmth in Kadar's expression. "We'll be going to town to show Altair around, remember?"

"Oh, yea!" Desmond said, banging his train on the table and wobbling Malik's glass.

"Careful," Kadar warned.

Desmond smiled widely and leaned back against Altair. "You gonna like it 'ere, Mister Alt'ir. There's lotsa good people 'round 'ere. I'll lecha even meet Lucy. She's my best frien'."

Altair smiled fondly before he even knew what he was doing, Desmond's weight familiar in his lap. He bounced Desmond on his knee, the soft look on his face still there when Desmond shrieked with glee and laughed. It had been too long since he had caused a child's laughter. When he stopped, Desmond looked at him.

"We're 'ave pop at the gen'ral sto'e, okay? You an' me."

"Sure, Nazih."

His eyes grew wide at his slip, and Desmond looked confused. "Huh? Nazi'? Whozzat?"

Altair felt an intense wave of guilt settle over him, and he murmured, "Don't worry about it."

"Whazit mean?"

Altair allowed himself to run his hand through Desmond's hair. "Innocence."

Desmond smiled warmly and wrapped his tiny arms around him in a hug. Altair knew he was in grave danger here. It hadn't even been a day, and all ready, he was too close. Death would be right around the corner for these poor folks, but he would stay and fight to the end for them. Death would descend either way, it seemed.

But he'd be damned if he'd let his past interfere with this boy.

"I like the name, Mister Alt'ir," Desmond murmured into his sweaty shirt.

Altair said nothing but gently wrapped his arms around the boy and held him close. He felt his mind shutting down as memories threatened to pour in again, and he found himself singing a lullaby that was familiar. Desmond wiggled briefly before settling down, and when Altair had finished singing the ancient, different language, Desmond was fast asleep in his arms.

"Nazih…" he whispered once more, holding the boy close.

If the others were stunned by his behavior, then they said nothing, for which, Altair was glad. Ezio came in, kissed his wife, plopped down at the table, and set his head down.

"What happened, Mister Auditore?" Malik asked.

There was a reply, muffled by the table, followed by a grunt. Ezio lifted his head. "Borgia's getting antsy. He's pretty pissed at Altair."

Malik scoffed. "Serves him right. Stupid maggot will ruin the land. The spirits have all ready left him."

Ezio looked at his child and chuckled. "I dunno if you'll be able ta leave, Altair. He seems to have taken up a residence in your lap."

Altair looked back at the boy and nodded. The time passed quickly as Desmond slept.

"And you're sure you want to make a frog costume?"

"Don't blame me: it was Altair's idea," Kadar said as he waved his hands.

"You're a strange man, Altair," Ezio said, looking at him.

Altair just studied him.

"He smiled, holding Desmond," Kadar said nonchalantly as he finished the pants. "There you go, Miss'us Auditore."

"Thank ya, Kadar," she said and took them to put them away.

"We're lucky we weren't in town when he did," Kadar said as he leaned back.

Altair raised an eyebrow.

"Whaddya mean?" Ezio asked.

"He'd have women fawning all over him if he smiled in town. I'm surprised you aren't married all ready," Kadar replied.

Altair was silent and ran a hand through Desmond's hair as the boy woke up.

"I was once."

Desmond yawned mightily.

"But those years are long behind me now."

The boy rubbed his eyes.

"I couldn't change it if I wanted to."

"Coul'n' change wha'?" Desmond said drowsily.

Altair shook his head, and Desmond smiled.

"Cin we go ta town now?"

"Sure thing, kiddo," Ezio said, rising.

Desmond wrapped his arms around Altair's neck as he rose. The boy yawned loudly. He carried Desmond into town, and by the time they reached it, he was just as bubbly as before.

"'Ere's the sc'ool'ouse! 'Is where I learn everyfing! Miss'us Stillman's real nice! And Lucy's my best frien'!"

He listened as Desmond gave him the tour.

"An' tha's the tail'r's house, an' the blacksmif, and the gen'ral store—Hi, Mister 'Astings!"

The storeowner looked at them as they walked down the small, one-street settlement. Shaun rolled his eyes and waved. "Hello, how are you?"

"We're great! We got us a real cowboy!"

Shaun shook his head.

"An' 'ere's the butche', the apfacary, and the inn, and the tavern!"

Altair enjoyed the small town. Ezio clapped him on the shoulder. "Wanna get something to drink? I'm sure Rebecca could use the help."

"Yeah!" Desmond shouted gleefully.

Altair changed his course for the bar. When he entered, he caught an apron that was flung at him.

"All 'ight! Ya want yer pop? Ya gotta work fer it, Dessie!"

Desmond wiggled from Altair's arms and tugged the apron on. "Don' worry, Mister Alt'ir. I'll ea'n my pop an' then we cin drink it togefer at the ba', soun' good?"

Altair raised an eyebrow as a tray came rolling toward the boy.

"Git ta work! Time's a-wastin'!"

He followed Ezio to the bar and sat down, turning to see Desmond approach a table and push the tray over the top. He climbed into a chair, gathered the dirty dishes, and climbed back down. He had one of the men at the table give him the tray again, which he carried back behind the bar to the dishwasher, trundling along in the oversized apron.

"You'll find most people 'ere put 'im to work," Ezio said. "'E's high-energy and free labor. Maximum kid energy, minimal parent energy."

Altair smirked as he watched the boy.

"Get us two drafts, would ya?" Ezio called out to a woman with short black hair.

"What am I, yer slave?"

"As long as ya stand behind this counter, ya are!" one of the patron's shouted.

Rebecca turned and glared at the man. "Watch it, bub. I'll kick ya higher 'an a kite if'in ya don't watch yer mouth!"

Altair looked at Ezio. "Pop. I don't care for alcohol."

Ezio raised an eyebrow. "Nevermind, Rebecca. I need a pop an' a draft."

"A han'some thang like you ain't gonna git drunk? Blow me over. 'Ere goes my chances."

He tipped his hat at the woman and looked over the scene. It was a hive of activity—well, for how small the town was. The people seemed to like one another as they laughed and told stories. He heard the bottle of pop slide down toward him, and without looking, caught it and bit the cap, pulling it off.

"I'll be jiggered! Look a'im! Ya got yerself a fine piece'a work there!"

He took a sip and watched the boy climb down from a chair. He felt Kadar move to sit beside him and looked.

"He enjoys it. Sometimes, Miss Hastings will let him serve drink, too."

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's normal. At the general store, he helps sort things on the lower shelves and sometimes works the cashier. He's good with numbers. The tailor has him run deliveries and pick-ups. The blacksmith has him move boxes. He earns a few pennies that way."

Altair took another sip. "Cheap labor."

Kadar shrugged. "It helps Ezio wear the kid out. Helps me wear the kid out."

Altair shook his head.

"There was one time someone gave him sugar right before bed—"

The bar fell silent as the door opened. A man with black hair and beautiful clothes stepped through with two thugs. Altair gave him a once over.

"'Ell, looks like we've foun' our cowboy," the man said as he walked over.

"Leave'im be, Cesare," Ezio growled.

Altair's eyes shift toward the boy. The thugs were following Borgia, and as long as they didn't touch the family, they'd be good.

"I jist wanted ta come an' welcome 'im. Whazzat yer drinkin'?"

"Is soda pop!" Desmond said, all smiles and laughter as he carried the tray to another table. "'Im an' me 're gonna drink some togefer after I get mine!"

Cesare looked amused and stepped toward the boy. Altair was on his feet in an instant. Cesare stopped and looked at him.

"Ya make it seem like I was gonna 'urt the boy."

"Desmond, why don't you come sit in Kadar's lap. I'll buy you a soda."

Desmond's eyes bugged out. "Really?"

"Really."

Desmond yanked off the apron and ran over to Kadar. Altair half-expected Rebecca to get mad, but she just served him an open bottle of pop. Cesare stepped over, and Altair stood in between him and the family, matching him head-to-toe. Borgia examined him closely, and his smile turned into a frown.

"Careful now, or I'd think ya was threatenin' me."

Altair said nothing, his fiercest glare fixed on the man. He felt Malik come stand beside him.

"Still usin' the useless re'skin? I thought ya were better 'an 'at, Ezio."

Ezio didn't dignify him with a response, but Altair didn't look away from the man.

"Ya know, ya killed my best man—"

"That was me."

Cesare looked at Altair again, his frown turning into a scowl. "Well, aren't ya jist somethin'?"

"A course 'e is!" Desmond shouted—Altair almost wanted to say he looked cute with his pout. "'E's a cowboy! A real one! 'E fights injuns an' everyfing!"

Cesare's scowl twitched into a smile once more. "Is 'at so?"

He went to push past Altair, but Altair grabbed his shirt and yanked him back, stepping directly between Desmond, Kadar, and Cesare. Cesare laughed.

"Ya think ya cin boss me aroun' 'ere? Lemme lay down some rules—"

"No." Altair crouched in a defensive position, and Cesare's eyebrow rose for a second before knitting together with the other one.

"Git'im, boys."

One of the goons leapt at him, and he sidestepped to let him hit the ground. Malik and the other were all ready going at it hand to hand, and Altair took his distraction to deliver a swift elbow to the ribs. He reveled in the cracking noise he heard. The man crumpled. If all of Cesare's men were this easy, he'd have no problem.

"I could've handled him—"

He turned when he heard a soft click and Ezio rise.

"M-Mister Alt'ir?"

He froze when he saw the goon he had sidestepped pointing a gun at Desmond and Kadar. Images of his kid and his wife, Nazih and Maria, flashed in front of his eyes. The fire was burning around the building, and there they sat, pinned by a goon with a gun. He was trembling, breathing in and out through his nose as he felt the heat tickle his skin. The flames danced closer around walls and floor of the building, and he was trapped, unable to fight back because his draw was too slow. His boy was crying in his mother's lap, and Maria looked panicked, her eyes begging him to do something to save them since she was tied. Do something, his mind said.

With a roar, Altair drew his gun and unloaded into the man, watching with sick satisfaction when blood sprayed. Desmond looked terrified as Altair moved closer, unloading a second round into the body. He was breathing hard and trembling as he ground his teeth and unloaded a third round into the body. He heard the other man start to run off, and he spun on his heel, aiming and firing.

He screeched and unloaded a second round into the second body. Then, he turned on Cesare, whose eyes were wide as he pressed against the far wall. Altair was trembling so badly, his gun was shaking, and he snarled.

"Leave my family alone," he growled.

The last thing he remembered was seeing Cesare run as he hit the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

He woke in a soft bed, his head pounding. The sheets were crisp and clean. He sat up slowly and looked around. It wasn't Desmond's room. There was a wash bin in the corner and a small mirror—an inn, he must be at an inn. He glanced down at his clothes and didn't even bat an eye at the blood spatters on his pants. His shirt was missing—probably being cleaned. He heard the door creak, and he looked only to hear Desmond's voice coming through.

"Mister Alt'ir? Are ya a'ake?"

The door cracked open, and he saw a small face full of worry peek through. When the boy realized he was awake, he stepped through, shuffling his feet as he stood near the door. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he was staring at the ground.

"Dun't tell pa I'm 'ere. Said I shoul' let ya sleep."

Altair studied the boy. Desmond looked at him briefly, then looked back down.

"Come here, Desmond."

The boy shuffled closer, eventually crawling onto the bed and settling in Altair's lap. Altair held the boy close and pressed his nose against his hair, breathing deep and smelling everything that was once so familiar—the smell of dirt and sun and a little boy who had just been running around, the smell of a family and soda pop. Desmond turned around in Altair's embrace and hugged him back. His eyes fluttered closed as he breathed deep again—it was a smell he had once forgotten.

"Thank ya, Mister Alt'ir, for savin' me an' Kada'."

Altair held him closer, willing the tears back. He hadn't cried since that day, and he wouldn't do so now.

"I don't kno' why ya acted so wie'd, but ya're still my hero."

Altair was trembling as he inhaled deeply. "I'm so sorry, Nazih. You shouldn't have seen that."

Desmond nuzzled against him. "Is okay, Mister Alt'ir. I though' it was awesome. You're so cool—I di'n't even see ya draw ya gun till ya's was shootin' already."

He felt the beginning of a smile try to make its way onto his face.

"Ya were shoutin' somefin' about your ho'se and Naz' while ya went crazy."

"They were my wife and little boy."

"Oh… Pa alwees said 'e'd go crazy wif grief if'in 'e lost mama an' me."

He felt Desmond hug him tighter.

"Looks like ya'll just 'ave ta stay wif us, 'en, so ya cin 'ave a fam'ly ag'in, 'ight?"

He clung to Desmond desperately as he heard the door open.

"An' ya cin play wif me and Malik and Kada', and we cin fight off Mister Borg'a."

He was silent, enjoying the feel of Desmond in his arms.

"Mister Borg'a's not gonna stop still we're gone, ain't 'e?"

"I won't let him touch you, Desmond. I give you my oath." He clutched Desmond tighter. "I promise, Desmond. I'll fight until he leaves for you."

"An' Kada'?"

"And Kadar."

"An' Malik?"

"And Malik."

"An' pa an' ma?"

"Yes, Desmond. I'll fight for you."

He felt Desmond nuzzle against his chest again, and he almost started crying. This was something he hadn't felt in some seventeen years of wandering the prairie, hunting down the men who had murdered his wife and slaughtered his kid. When had killed the last man, he didn't know what to do with himself, and he had taken to wandering, helping those he could—wherever he was needed in hope that he could be forgiven someday.

"Desmond?"

He looked to see Malik standing at the door with a frown.

"What did your father say?"

Desmond didn't let go—not like Altair could've let him, anyway.

"'M sorry, Mister Malik, but 'e looked so sad. I wan'ed ta bring back 'is smile."

Malik crossed the room and sat by the bedside. "That was some impressive fighting back there. I wanted to thank you for saving—"

Altair waved a hand to cut him off. He squeezed Desmond when Desmond tightened his hug. "I don't deserve it."

"Is no' your fault, Mister Alt'ir. Ya were jist doin' what ya needed ta to save us."

Altair was quiet. Outside, a bird chirped merrily on the windowsill. Desmond pushed away and clambered off the bed.

"Wai'ere! I'll be back!"

Altair watched him run out of the room and down the hall. There was silence, save the bird, for a little bit before Malik spoke.

"You couldn't save your wife and kid, hm?"

He looked at Malik.

"Idiot."

His eyes grew wide.

"I appreciate all you've done for this family all ready, and if you think of leaving before you've seen this through, I'll kill you, but you have to stop wallowing in your own self-pity."

Altair scowled.

"Don't all you maggots believe in God or something? I might be wrong, but aren't they in Heaven now, looking down at you? What would they say if they were?" Malik was frowning. "I believe in the spirits of the earth as an Indian, but even then, when we pass to the afterlife, all of the animals we have ever met wait for us on the other side of a bridge, and they consult one another on whether we get to cross over or if we must be reborn again. What would your horse say about her companion? That he's sad and lonely, yet refuses to move on and live again?"

Altair was silent. He looked at his lap.

"The earth has blessed you with a new family. Enjoy it."

There was a happy yell from down the hallway as Desmond came running in. "I got us pop, Mister Alt'ir! I kno' it ain't the gen'ral sto'e, but Missus 'Astings said we coul' drink 'em up 'ere!"

In his hands were two bottles of pop and a small box. He climbed on the bed and settled down in Altair's lap, babbling excitedly.

"An' this'in 'ere's taffy! I 'ad ta work the cashbox for four 'ole 'ours afore I earned this! Mister 'Astings was real busy 'at day, too! I dun't let many people share somma it, but ya an' Malik can 'ave some!"

Altair felt the beginning of a small smile tug at his lips.

"Cin ya how me 'ow ta shoot like you, Mister Alt'ir? 'At was real awesome, an' Mister Borg'a wen' runnin' from the tavern like a girl!" The boy giggled. "It was real funny! Cin ya open the bottles wif ya teef ag'in?"

Altair obliged and popped open the bottles, biting down hard on the cap. He spit them into his hand and set them beside them, listening to Desmond's shriek of glee turn into bubbly laughter. He handed one of the sodas to the boy.

"'At was real cool! Ya gotta do it in fron'a my frien's! They'e all gonna be jealous I got ta meet a real cowboy who cin shoot an' open pop wif 'is teef! Malik, cin ya do 'at too?"

Malik shook his head, smiling slightly. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Naw, 'at's okay. I still like ya any'ay."

Malik quirked an eyebrow. "You don't love me?"

Desmond's nose crinkled. "Naw, ya git cooties from lovin' people."

Malik chuckled, taking a piece of the taffy Desmond offered.

"Now, this is real saltwat'a taffy straigh' from the coast! Mister 'Astings tol'me so after I work'd the cashbox for four 'ours!"

"You told us," Malik said.

Desmond nodded once in finality. "Good. It was 'ard. We was 'avin' a Fourth a July party, too! 'Ere was people from the next town comin' 'ere an' watchin'!"

"Well, I'm sure you did a fine job, or else Shaun wouldn't have given you the taffy."

Altair was smiling at the exchange. Yes, it had been too long since he had a family.

"A course I di'! 'Ere ain't no better cashbox'a in the 'ole USA!"

"What about in England?" Altair said.

"Huh? 'Ere's 'at?"

"Overseas," he said, taking a piece of taffy.

Desmond's eyes grew wide. "Ya've been overseas?"

Altair shook his head.

"Well, it ain't no matter any'ay," Desmond said, holding his head high, "'cause I'm the best cashbox'a ya'll ever fin'!"

Altair nodded. "I'm sure."

There was brief silence as Desmond preoccupied himself with his pop and his taffy. A few minutes later, when Altair was less than a third done with the bottle, Ezio came walking in with Kadar, his wife, and the Hastings.

"Ya had us worried," Ezio said.

"Worried?" Shaun spit. "He just murdered a man—two men—in our bar!"

"Come off it," Kadar said, "no one likes the Borgias anyway. And if we leave, you're next."

Shaun glared and adjusted his glasses.

"'Anks for the taffy, Mister 'Astings!"

"Desmond!" his mother said. "I was preparing dinner!"

"Let the boy have some fun," Altair murmured. "You never know how long he'll be around."

Desmond chirped merrily when Altair hugged him. "When I go back to sc'ool 'is fall, I'm gonna be the o'ly one wif a report abou' meetin' a cowboy."

"Sorry 'bout draggin' ya into all of this, partner," Ezio said. "It's been a crazy couple of days."

Altair shook his head as he swallowed the sip of soda.

"No?" Kadar said. "How can you say it hasn't?"

"'E's gonna fight the Borg'as for us! 'E'll shoot 'em all up like injuns!"

Kadar laughed. "All the Indians?"

"Yeah!"

"What about Malik and me?"

Desmond looked surprised. "Naw, naw! No, not ya, I was jist kiddin', Mister Alt'ir. Dun't shoot up all the injuns!"

Altair shook his head.

"Good."

"Ya scared us near'ta death back in the bar," Rebecca said.

Altair bowed his head.

"Are ya feelin' okay, hot stuff?"

He looked at her.

"'Ere's 'at fire. Ya look jist fine. Finish yer pop an' get outta 'ere." She winked at him, and he nodded. He was silent for the remainder of the evening, even after he returned home and settled into the cot. When he felt Desmond move against him, he looked down at the boy. He was fast asleep, clutching a small ragdoll his mother had made for him a while ago. It was dressed like a cowboy, a little cloth gun and holster at its side. He gently kissed Desmond's head and settled down. He was in for a fight with the Borgias.

The next few days were quiet ones, and Altair fell into a pattern: wake up, tend the animals, water the crops, lunch. After that, he took Desmond with him on Maria around the farm several times, making rounds and checking there were no signs of Borgia or his men. Then dinner, and sometimes a drink at the tavern—in which Desmond would work for a bottle of pop, climb into Altair's lap, and they would drink it "togefer." They'd head home, and Desmond would curl up with Altair in his cot.

Kadar seemed to have a deep respect for Altair, and Altair found himself wanting to reach out and touch the boy before age took its toll and ruined the dark skin with scars, wrinkles, and washout. But Altair was too old, and this he knew. He didn't deserve such a pleasure—his fingers shouldn't touch something so beautiful, for it would get only ruined. Kadar would be by their side every morning, waiting for Altair to wake Desmond, and he would help Desmond dress as the boy blathered on about whatever dream he had. Altair would vanish so he wouldn't touch the man and would leave behind an extremely confused Kadar.

One night, as Altair mounted Maria and started his daily rounds—Desmond had to take a bath after rolling in the creek—he heard quiet footsteps behind him, and he turned to see Kadar walking toward him. He watched the young man pull out a buckskin stallion and hop on its back, guiding it forward without use of a saddle or reins.

"Mind if I join you?"

He shook his head. Malik had been warming up to him, so he needed to make sure he didn't try anything. They rode in silence around to the creek, the horses' hooves splashing as they entered it to get around the fencing. It was a slow pace to the edge of their land, and when Altair stopped to survey the area, he felt a hand slip into his. He glanced at it, then at Kadar.

"Thank you, Altair. I know you don't like it, but thank you."

He nodded and squeezed lightly, getting a return squeeze and a smile.

"Desmond really admires you, you know. I'm glad you could have such a positive influence on him."

Altair smirked.

"He comes in bouncing after you take him on one of the rounds and tells me everything you've seen as if he's never seen it before. Or, when you two sit at the bar, just outside the doors and sip your sodas, he wears the biggest grin. You've really made his life by coming here."

"It was fluke."

"It was the spirits of the earth. That's what Malik says. I have to believe him. They must have guided your horse here."

Without thinking, he brought Kadar's hand to his lips and kissed it gently, still not realizing what he had done as he lowered their hands. He studied the bushes on the other side of the river. "It's still quiet."

He turned to look at Kadar, only to be met with a serious stare that reminded him of Malik. He raised an eyebrow.

"I may not be my brother, but I can still whip you good if you're fucking around with me."

His eyebrows furrowed, and he stared into Kadar's eyes.

"I'm serious."

He gave him a confused look.

"The hand kiss? Don't tell me you're so stupid you didn't know you'd done that."

The bite of the Al-Sayf family struck again.

"Malik was right: you really are an idiot."

Altair sighed and looked back over the land. He glared at Kadar when he tugged on his arm. He turned to fully look at the young man, only to have a warm pair of lips cover his. Immediately, his hand pulled free of Kadar's and cupped his cheek. How long it had been since he had kissed someone like that.

He was pleased to find a tint of red on the other's cheeks when he pulled back, and he brushed a thumb across his skin. It was smooth and young still: the effects of time couldn't be seen. Kadar licked his lips, and Altair found himself leaning in for another kiss. It was longer, deeper, and he was surprised at Kadar's struggle for dominance, despite the inexperience present in the kiss.

When he pulled back again, Kadar was breathless but had a smile growing on his face—he was so beautiful, so young. He could remember when Maria smiled at him like that. His horse snorted impatiently, and he patted her neck. Kadar swallowed and looked at him.

"Don't tell my brother. He'll skin us both."

Altair nodded, a smirk pasting itself on his face. He felt the hand in his once more and looked at it again.

"Thank you, Altair."

They took their time riding back to the barns. It became their routine. Kadar would go out with Desmond and Altair on the rounds, and the two would ride in silence, letting the cicadas, Desmond, and frogs talk for them. Desmond was amazed by the fireflies, and Altair would hold the back of his shirt when he would stand on Maria's back to try and catch one. Sometimes, Desmond would have to do something during the rounds, and at the back corner of the land, Altair would steal a kiss and hold Kadar's hand.

It was wrong, he knew, that he was courting the young man when he had all ready been married, had a child, and lost them both. But it felt nice to know that someone thought he was better than he really was. Kadar and Desmond wormed nice, fat holes in his heart—which for so long he had thought to be made of stone. Ezio and Caterina were nice, he conceded, but they were nice in a way that he had learned to look over. They were nice in a way he had learned to be unaffected by. Malik was a warrior, and the bond they formed was anything but love. It was respect, trust, and passion for fighting and gun slinging, but not love.

Once or twice, when they set out early enough without Desmond, he touched the man intimately and fell in love with the soft pleas and whimpers his hands brought. Kadar turned out to be more dominating than he thought—a good trait for someone who keeps the house. He was bold and unafraid to touch Altair back, and Altair had forgotten just what an intimate relationship like theirs could feel like. He could only hope Maria would forgive him as he indulged in what the young man offered him.

Every day, the look of admiration and respect grew in Kadar's eyes as Altair became more engrained in the family. He played cowboys and Indians with Desmond and the two brothers. He taught Desmond how to shoot like a proper man. He even smiled at Desmond's sixth birthday. It had been almost a year, now, and he still had yet to see Cesare rear his head again.

Ezio insisted he could leave whenever he wanted—even thought he made no subtleties about enjoying his help, but Altair knew a man like that. He was waiting, biding his time to strike when he was sure it would hurt. Altair started waking at midnight and in the early morning hours to do a round. He did one at noon and at sunset.

It wasn't until he was the tavern, sixteen months later, that Cesare reared his head again. Altair was holding Desmond in his lap at the bar, each with a bottle of pop in their hands, when Borgia appeared, a smug smirk on his lips as he walked up to the bar. Altair watched him carefully as he ordered a bottle of beer. The entire bar had quieted significantly, and in through the door strolled another man with two guns at his hips.

He had the build of a cowboy, and the clothes to boot. Altair was almost afraid that Desmond would be floored in awe by the appearance of a second cowboy, but Desmond actually whined and tucked himself into Altair arms. He knew something was wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

"Now, 'en, Mister Vieri, was it?"

"Yeah."

"Now, ya see, I got a problem, an' I was tol'ya coul' 'elp me."

Altair listened closely, letting Desmond snuggle into his arms. Kadar was by his side, and their arms were touching. Ezio had stiffened. Altair thought the name sounded familiar.

"I 'ave a vermin probl'm. 'Eard ya was the best a the best."

Altair went rigid: he did know that name. He was one of the most ruthless murderers on the prairie, and Altair had come across him several times on his journey. The two did not get along.

"Yeah, I'm. Why?"

"I'll pay ya good money ta git rid a them rats scurryin' a few chai's down."

Vieri looked and grinned when he saw Altair. He rose, and Altair set his drink down, putting Desmond in Kadar's lap and standing between the man and the two he loved so dearly.

"Lon'time no see, co'boy. Still doin' the 'right thing?'"

Altair's lips curled into a snarl, and Vieri laughed.

"I miss'd ya on the per'rie. Glad ta see ya finally settl'down."

His fingers itched for his gun.

"'Ad I kno'n I was up ag'inst ya, I woula brough' my cous'n ta take cura ya."

Altair's eyes narrowed. "Don't you even think of raising a hand against this family."

Vieri smirked. "I do what the money tells me."

Altair snarled. Ezio placed a hand on his shoulder.

"'Ere's no need to start a fight, Altair. Let's go."

Altair could only oblige the man. He walked home silently, thinking, and he came to a conclusion as he settled in with Desmond for the night: live or die, he would take down Vieri and kill Cesare.

He withdrew into himself over the next couple of days. He would spend hours between working practicing his draw, or sparring with Malik to get better. He said fewer words; his eyes softened less, and he was slowly becoming the gunslinger he had been before. He refused to let Kadar accompany him at night anymore. If he had realized he was doing this, he would've kicked himself. It took Desmond to point out what he hadn't known.

He was on the porch; the family, inside. He was nursing a glass of water, leaning on the porch railing, looking at the land across the river. The family's conversation drifted through to him.

"Why's 'e 'gnorin' us, pa?"

"He's not meaning to, Dessie."

"'En why's 'e doin' it?"

"Desmond, do you remember all the Indian tales I told you?" It was Kadar.

"Yea, why?"

"Do you remember the ones about the spirits watching over us?"

"Yea, why?"

"That's what Altair is."

Horrified: "A sp'rit? 'E's gonna vanish?"

"No, no, do you remember the watch dog story?"

Silence, Altair assumed a nod.

"Do you remember how the boy and his guardian spirit were really good friends, and when trouble reared its head, how the spirit became serious and watched over him?"

More silence—another nod.

"That's what Altair is for us."

"But why do we need to be guarded?"

"Because Cesare's a bad man, Dessie. 'E don't like us."

"But 'e ain't gonna 'urt us, right?"

"I'm not so sure of that."

There was silence, then the scrape of a chair.

"Where are you going, Des?"

He heard the screen door creak open, but thought nothing of it when a movement caught his eye. When it emerged, it looked like a dog. Altair relaxed. He felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down to see big brown eyes staring at him with a pout. Desmond reached upwards to be picked up, and Altair scooped him up. Desmond's arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and Altair shifted him into one arm. The dog was still loping closer.

"I miss ya, Mister Alt'ir."

Altair looked at the boy who was clinging so close to him.

"Will ya play wif me an' Malik and Kada' ag'in soon?"

Altair placed a hand on his back, pressing his nose to Desmond's hair and smelling that scent that had become so familiar.

"I miss ya. Your gol' eyeballs ain't as exp'essive as they use ta be. Malik an' Kada' bof said so. I miss seein' the 'appiness in your eyes. They look li'e when ya first arriv'd."

Altair placed one hand on the back of his head and held him tightly. "'M sorry."

"Don't be sorry, jist come an' be like ya use ta!"

Altair sighed: if only it could be that simple, if only he hadn't grown so close to them, if only he hadn't fallen in love with Kadar and Desmond, if only he hadn't created a soldier's bond with Malik. There were so many "if onlys" Altair felt overwhelmed.

When he heard the snarl, he shot before he even realized what was going on. Desmond screamed when the coyote's body landed on them, and Altair was quick to throw it off. Kadar was the first one out, and he looked at the body of the coyote, Desmond cowering in Altair's arms, and Altair standing there with his gun still smoking. The body twitched, and there was another loud bang as the body jumped from bullet impact. The others were outside, and Altair was rubbing Desmond's back.

When Desmond pulled back to look at the body, Altair placed a finger under his chin and looked the boy in the eye. Desmond's mouth was open, and he looked thoroughly surprised at the dead coyote.

"The number one rule of being a cowboy is you can never be afraid to fight for what you love."

They were silent for several moments, staring each other in the eye. Finally, Desmond's jaw snapped shut, and he nodded with finality. Altair nodded once.

"Good."

He set Desmond down and looked at Kadar gesturing toward the barns. Kadar looked surprised—they all still did. Altair grabbed the back of Desmond's shirt and pulled him away from the corpse.

"Why can't I touch it?"

"It has rabies. The foam at the mouth."

Desmond backed up as Altair picked it up by the legs and walked to the stables. He frowned at the foamy mess on his clothes and arms. He slung it over Maria's back and saddled her when Kadar came in slowly. He was holding a small bundle in his arms.

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

Altair simply nodded and swung himself into her saddle. "I'll need someone to stand guard while I wash."

Kadar nodded and got on the stallion. They rode out in silence, and once they reached the back corner, Kadar started a fire to burn the coyote's body with the wood from the few trees at the edge of the land. Altair slowly stripped from his clothes, his skin marked by the fights and bullets he'd taken. When he approached the water's edge with his clothes, he froze. Water was his enemy. While in a bath, it was okay—he could keep his gun close. When drinking from a water bin, it was okay—he could keep his gun close. When he was in the middle of river, with his enemy prowling around, it was not okay—his gun would be sitting on the banks, waiting faithfully for his return.

After the body had started burning, Kadar came over and washed his hands off.

"Why do you hesitate?"

He looked at Kadar, who was admiring his body. His lips twitched. "It is unsafe."

Kadar laughed. "You'll be fine. Do you want me to bathe with you?"

"No. Then there would be two of us in water, and no one near the gun."

"You don't feel safe unless you're armed."

Altair didn't respond. Kadar rose and gently took his clothes from him. The young man set the gun down by the river's edge. He walked over to the fire and picked the bundle from earlier.

"Clean clothes. I'll burn these."

Altair nodded, and he felt Kadar gently push him into the small river. He resisted the further in he went until Kadar huffed and stripped, using all of his strength to push Altair in. One of the rocks gave way under his feet, and he fell headfirst into the water. Kadar yelped and fell behind him, and Altair quickly found his footing and popped his head above the water. It was chest high, but the water current was gentle.

Kadar's head popped up next, and the young Indian started laughing. Altair scowled and started to the bank. He was pulled back by Kadar, and felt two remarkably warm arms around his waist. The water was cold this far in.

"Stay in the water. It's not going to kill you."

"But Vieri will."

"He will not show his face tonight."

"How do you know that?"

Kadar nuzzled into his neck. "The spirits of the earth have said so."

He felt the young man pressed warm kisses against his chilled skin, and he felt himself drawn in. When he took Kadar that night against the soft grass on the riverbank, he realized that he had never felt so complete for a long time.

That next morning, he woke up to find Desmond squished against him, sandwiched in between him and Kadar. Propping himself up on one elbow, he watched both of them sleep, and in the early morning sunshine, they both looked like angels. He felt old as he watched them, he felt dirty. They looked so young, so innocent. He winced at the thought. Their innocence had not been his to take, and yet, he had stolen it from both of them. His stomach flopped when Kadar stirred.

Blue eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. Kadar smiled sleepily. "Your eyes look like gold when the sun shines on them."

Careful of Desmond, he reached over and caressed Kadar's cheek, murmuring an "I'm so sorry."

Kadar laughed quietly and leaned into the touch. His eyes fluttered closed, and Altair hated himself for taking such innocence from the world.

That evening, the men went out to the tavern. Rebecca slid Altair and Desmond their pop, and drew a mug for Ezio and Malik. Kadar sat by Altair, their arms touching like usual. Altair reveled in the small amount of contact with Desmond nestled securely against his torso, sipping the cold drink and babbling happily. Malik peppered his commentary with snips and questions. It felt so right there, at that moment, he almost didn't feel Vieri come up behind him.

"Le's en' this, cow'oy," Vieri growled, and he tipped back the rest of his soda.

He patted Desmond's thigh, and the boy looked at him. He patted his thigh again, and Kadar picked him out of his lap. He rose with a soft sigh and looked Vieri in the eye. With a nod, he walked out into the street. This was the end.

"No!" Desmond screeched.

Altair stopped and looked at Desmond, who was throwing himself against Kadar's arms. He offered a small smile.

"Rule number one, Desmond."

"I don't want you to die!" Desmond screamed.

Vieri laughed and pushed Altair to the door.

"I don't want you to die," Altair said softly.

Desmond screamed, crying and struggling. Altair almost turned back, forsook his pledge to protect the boy, and set his gun to the side, but he set his jaw and stepped out. Cesare was waiting, looking mad.

"I though' ya sai' ya'd—"

"I'm killin' 'im. I ain't gonna take a cheap shot a' a man 'ho's prov'd 'imself."

They walked into the street and stood face to face. Altair studied Vieri. This was the final shot. His lips twitched downward.

"'Eady?"

Altair frowned.

"Jist watch me."

Shaun had come out of the store. The people were gathering in the streets, and Altair wondered if they'd never seen a shoot out before. His fingers twitched at his sides as they turned their backs. He could hear Desmond's screeching in the tavern. It tugged at his heartstrings as he felt Vieri's presence behind him. Adrenaline was pounding in his veins.

Shaun stepped forward. "All right, on my count, three steps, turn and shoot."

At least one man knew how to work a duel. He wondered why the British man could work a shoot out, but an American couldn't.

"One."

Step.

"Two."

Step and draw. Altair's draw was quick, but not quick enough to avoid Vieri getting a shot in. He flinched at the shot and watched as Vieri fell, a gaping hole through his chest. Altair breathed out through his nose and turned when he heard Cesare's screech. He aimed and fired three times, watching Cesare's body jerk with each hit. Desmond was screaming, and he looked at the doors to see the boy come running out, Kadar close behind. Altair squatted and scooped him up.

"Alt'ir! Alt'ir!"

He hugged the boy tightly and patted his back before setting him down. Desmond whined and reached back up for him, but Altair smiled and ruffled his hair. "Not right now, Desmond."

Rebecca was examining Cesare's body, and at the shout, "'E's dead!" the entire town shouted in glee. Altair was dragged forward, but stopped them.

"I need rest. I will celebrate tomorrow."

There was a flurry of protest before Ezio came and clapped him on the shoulder. "Ya earned it, partner. All 'at adrenaline coursing through your veins must have done a number on you."

At Ezio's statement, the others retreated into the bar. Desmond was attached to his leg. He could hear their commotion. It was quickly turning into quite a celebration: he wanted to celebrate, but his chest ached terribly. As they walked from the bar, Altair holstered his gun and undid the belt. He handed it to Desmond, who shrieked happily and put it on. Altair took off his hat and set it on the boy's head, watching him dance happily as he struggled to walk down the road, an incurable ache lodged deep in his ribs. He told Desmond to keep them, and the boy danced all the way down the road and to the farm. Altair could feel the ache getting worse. As he stepped onto the ranch, the last thing he heard was Desmond's cry as he collapsed:

"Alt'ir!"


	5. Chapter 5

Years later, over the screech of an eagle, the sound of hoof beats could be heard. As the horse entered a bustling little town, which flourished under the second-generation Italian mayor, it reared up, whinnying loudly. The man on its back whooped loudly and waved his hat in the air before he ripped through the town like a lightning bolt. The medicine man was an Indian who still had the remnants of a old pain never healed etched into his blue eyes. He watched the rider go by with a warm smile. The owners of the general store and tavern smiled as he passed and went out of the town, down a small dirt side road to a sprawling ranch that extended for miles. A small log cabin sat in the front, and a young woman with a newborn babe suckling on her breast was rocking in the chair on the front porch.

With a laugh, the young man leapt off the horse and ran to his wife, kissing her full on the lips. He touched the baby's head lightly and smiled softly. The infant's beautiful gold eyes glittered like a distant memory too far off to touch. He kissed his wife again and went to put up his horse. Once he scrubbed his horse down, he left the barn to visit a small monument just beside the oak tree at the edge of the pastures. He knelt down in front of it as an eagle settled on it.

"Hey, 's bin all winta, huh? Bin 'elpin' people 'at needed it."

He settled down in front of it, pulling off his hat, old and dusty. The leather was creased and worn, the brown it had once been washed out by years of use. The gun at his hip was neatly polished and ancient by a generation. Two young Indian boys were laughing in the fields.

"I've bin keepin' up with a fa'm, too. Toldja I would."

The only noise was breeze as it ruffled the eagle's feathers.

"Lucy's babe's doin' fine. Though' ya migh' wanna know. We named 'im. Wanna know what i'is?"

He laughed as he rose. The eagle took off into the skies, and the man picked up his hat, placing it on his head. He watched the eagle fly into the sun, knowing it would return.

"We named 'im afta ya, Alt'ir."

* * *

><p><strong>That was fun, but sad. D: That was difficult to write with all the accents. XD I hope you all could understand it.<br>**


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